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bill-the-bise · 2 years ago

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Chrissy Cunningham x Eddie Munson | fingerprint soulmate au

no i don't have a title i don't write i just had to get this OUT of my brain

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When Chrissy went into a trance that night, he tried not to grab onto her, I mean really, he did, but then she started floating and he was screaming and she wouldn't respond and did I mention she was fucking floating? So he wrapped his hand around her ankle, yanking downward, and pulled her down until she was at eye level, grasping her head with one hand on either side of her neck.

“Chrissy? Chrissy! Chrissy wake up, please! Chrissy!!” He gripped her harder, trying not to hold her too tightly he would hurt her, but just tightly enough that he was sure she wouldn’t float away.

He didn't even notice the red thumbprint he left behind, too distracted by the fact that she was waking up then, gasping for air, and that she seemed relatively okay.

They collapsed into a heap on the floor, Eddie kneeling awkwardly and pulling Chrissy to lay on his lap, her head cradled in his elbow. That was when he noticed it: a bright red thumb print, just barely visible in the dark trailer, fading into existence on the tender skin below her right ear. He thought it was a smudge of blood at first, checking his fingers to make sure he wasn't bleeding, but found no blood.

"Eddie?" she asked, her voice small and weak.

He snapped back to attention, filing that under things to worry about later. "Yeah, I'm here, princess. You okay?" She was still so frightened she barely even registered the pet name.

She reached up, inhaling, breaths beginning to slow to a steadier pace, and gently rested her hand on the side of his face. She kept her hand there for a moment, and then went to pull away, mouth opening to thank him, before her eyes widened and she gasped again. Eddie's eyes went wide too, filled with sudden panic, but as she sat up and moved closer to inspect his face, her hands resting gently on his cheeks, he realized it was not fear, but wonder, in her eyes.

"Eddie," she breathed, barely a whisper. "Eddie its blue…" she continued, eyebrows pulling together in thought. without a word, she jumped up out of Eddie's lap and began rifling through her backpack, as if she hadn't just been in a fucking demon trance or something.

"Chrissy, be careful!"

"Just gimme a minute!"

Eddie looked on as she continued to dig through her bag, and his concern slowly faded into confusion. "Whaaat are you doing?"

"HA!" she exclaimed, almost cutting off his question. She shuffled back over on her knees, holding something small and thin and flat. A pack of gum? Eddie wondered.

She made her way to him, holding out a small plastic eyeshadow palette, the kind you get from the drug mart or the department store. As she opened it up and looked at him, he got the feeling he was missing something, as if she expected it to make any sense to him.

"Ammm I supposed to be…getting this? I-I don't understand, Chrissy, what-"

Eddie cut himself off as she pursed her lips and wordlessly pointed to the third eyeshadow on the top row, worn down enough that you could see the tin in the middle. "Ice Blue" the container said. He recognized it then as the eyeshadow she had worn every day of senior year. This was also when he caught view of himself in the compact mirror.

He grabbed the mirror from her to get a closer look. There, on his left temple, in between his eyebrow and his hairline, was a fingerprint. Ice Blue, he realized. He caught her eyes over the compact, and finally his eyes matched hers: wide with wonder, full of questions, and underneath it all, a gentle fondness blossoming as they both processed what it all meant.

All of that stopped, however, when he remembered who he was, and who she is, and what this meant. What had been budding excitement melted into dread, deep in his chest. “Chrissy, I’m….I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-“

She shook her head at him. “What the hell are you sorry for?” She scolded him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and a bit of anger. Her eyes softened when she saw the deer-in-headlights look he was giving her, and she took his wrist gently in her hand. “Eddie….don’t you know what this means?” and there was that look again, full of fondness and wonder.

It was his turn to feel confused, “of course I do, that’s why I’m so sorry that it’s-” “-A freak like you?”

That stunned him into silence. Her words, the same ones that the children of Hawkin’s most upstanding citizens spat in the cafeteria when they wanted to make him feel unwanted and unwelcome, were spoken gently, tinged with something like understanding. She bit her lip and held a small smile in the corner of her mouth as she looked down at his wrist where she still held him, and began to slide her hand into his.

It was minutes before either of them spoke. “Eddie.” She said, then waited, not wanting to continue until she had confirmation that he was truly listening.

He brought his eyes up to hers and found they echoed the fear he felt, but they also held the same excitement and fondness, and that sense of wonder that he couldn’t seem to shake even in all his anxiety. He nodded once, encouraging her to continue.

She downcast her eyes, like what came next was difficult to say. “We still have a choice… if this isn’t… if it’s not what you want.” The last words were whispered. “I won’t push it.” She met his eyes at that as she tilted her head, unintentionally exposing the skin underneath her ear.

It was then that Eddie reached out finally to touch the print under her earlobe. Her words echoed in his mind, if it’s not what you want. It was his turn to look on in childlike wonder as he inspected the mark he left, his turn to feel himself brimming with excitement as he let himself consider the fact that Chrissy goddamn Cunningham was actually his soul mate.

This was one of those rare occasions where Eddie actually thought through what he wanted to say before just blurting it all out. “I didn’t say that.” He paused, carefully considering what to say next. “I just don’t want to make trouble for you. We aren’t exactly… y’know.” He gulped as she stared at him, averting his eyes before continuing, realizing she had no intentions of letting him get away without explaining it. “I’m not exactly Hawkin’s finest, Chrissy. I don’t want to make this hard for you, because believe me, people are going to give you shit, and I mean a lot of shit, for this.”

He looked over then, expecting to see her thinking hard, maybe turned away from him as she considered her options. What he didn’t expect to see was Chrissy staring right at him, smiling and staring on with that same old look of fondness mixed with excitement mixed with wonder.

“Eddie, don’t you get it? None of that bullshit matters now. Not after this, not anymore.” She chewed her lip and reached up a hand to ghost over the fingerprint, matching her hand to the spot she caressed him earlier. She took Eddie’s wrist in her other hand and guided it up to the spot where he had gripped her neck before. “It doesn’t matter. It’s all just bullshit.”

They stared for a long moment before Eddie responded. “Yeah?” He asked, smiling, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah.” She smiled and took her bottom lip between her teeth, before taking in a breath, as if readying herself for something.

And then, for the first time in a long time, Chrissy Cunningham did something for herself. She closed her eyes, and leaned in, and kissed her newfound soulmate.

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rosepyrearchive · 4 years ago

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𝐟𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏

an experiment of posting a drabble a day, from a few sentences to a paragraph or more. i posted them on my old blog, now i’m going to compile them all here !

fingers carefully shift the lavender crystal in betwixt her thin fingers. for years, it had remained faithfully at the base of her throat, the way wolves protect each other’s most delicate parts; her father always did the same. now, there’s somewhere else she’d like to place that power, that protection. what color would the crystal turn, when placed in anakin’s palm ? blue, like his eyes, or red, like the blood he sheds ? the choker she once wore, pastel colored velvet around her neck, has an empty slot where she’d pulled the gem from, and now it finds a new home on a long chain of beskar; where she imagines it will press right in the middle of his chest, beneath his tunic & tabard. no matter what becomes of him, or what tries to hurt him . . . the chain and crystal will remain.

ii.

in her mother’s arms, she is just a daughter, a doll. on stage, she is better than a mortal girl, or even the immortal one she became; she’s a ballerina in tufts of pink & tulle. i am a good girl, even now when they’re all in the ground. now that the curtains of earth & velvet have fallen, though, who is she ? who does she become, without the pale pink ribbons & tight bodice of her costumes ? the voice, the visions, the hallucinations seem to answer for her; a ghost, a hazy, obscure daydream who cannot truly exist. who is she ? where does the camouflage, the eagerness to please end ? serena supposes it doesn’t end at all; and in that, she is a russian doll of nothingness.

iii.

she’s never seen him without his helmet. no one has, serena imagines — not in this state of his life, where removing it means deprivation and vulnerability; the simple act and thought is filled with an intimacy serena knows she could never earn from him, but … the yearning doesn’t stop, nor does the longing and curiosity to see his pallid skin, scarred & tainted, the marks that must cover his cheeks and chest. where do they end ? are they like ripples in waves or a pattern ? and … when she stands near him, does he ever look at her ? the blackness of his shield hides it all, and it does it’s job in making her nervous; serena can never stand still in his presence, thighs shaking and nails digging trench tracks into her soft palms. darth vader is terrible, awful, even cruel … so what is it that allures her so deeply, and why ? then again, if she knew, perhaps the shimmering butterflies would subside and she could see clearly, see this for what it was. he wasn’t even using her — and she is the very picture of devotion.

iv.

to what end does the fae steal a fair maiden ? or is it truly a crime, when the victim is so terribly willing ? allie’s feet move so mesmerizingly, around & around while flowers and mushrooms bloom from beneath her soles; her palm is so open – ❪ come to me, serena ! ❫ perspiration of late summer sticks to serena’s forehead, betwixt her rosy fingers, ❪ 𝙾𝚁 𝙸𝚂 𝚂𝙷𝙴 𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃 𝙽𝙴𝚁𝚅𝙾𝚄𝚂 ? 𝙰𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙴 𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴𝙳 𝚃𝙾 𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙻 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚆𝙰𝚈 … ❫ and without a regret, she lays her hand in the other girl’s. she sups on honeyed milk, gives her name. the fairies covet gold, and what is serena, if not well - dressed in a golden shroud, from her crown to the hem of her long dress ? what does she have to fear, when she is magic all on her own ? allie’s hand lifts both of theirs high as she twirls serena amidst the flowers, and she swears she can feel grass grow from her steps.

calloused fingers dig deep into serena’s sweet, soft dimples; and from her jaw, trickles of sweet wine drip, down her neck, like spilled rubies on her pale skin. you hurt me, she wants to say. you’ve hurt me, and i am the one who’s sorry. hollis draws his thumb down to her chin, leaving perfect smudged fingerprints across her the way one would drag their fingers across a fogged glass. his eyes are a dull, venomous green as he calls her a name that doesn’t belong to her. that isn’t me, serena wants to cry. non, mon rêve, you’re much prettier than she ever was, hollis would reply, because this isn’t the first time. he squeezes bruises into her little arms as he kisses her, and serena thinks she kisses him back.

vi.

allow the camera to pan upwards, from her pale pink ballet slippers into her soft cotton dress, her feet turn out in first position as she raises her hands into fourth, pulled up by soft silk strings by an invisible puppeteer. the stage is her church, a massive, all encompassing world of history & grace, and then the world becomes it’s own stage; and serena’s performance is all consumed, like an apple in the garden of eden. isn’t she so lovely, so flawless, our little ballerina ornament ? serena doesn’t know who, or what, controls her actions – her lies, her pliés. some entity who refuses to present themselves, only bothering to choreograph her life & watch her from behind the scenes; she is both fresh as a flower, brought up in springtime, & as broken as skeletons that have long withered to dusk in their caskets. even in her most secluded moments, she does not feel alone – not truly. this puppet master is always watching, writing their script, judging her arches and how gracefully she can slide across the floor in her pointe shoes. when she takes her final bow, it’s only the studio mirror that gazes back at her, her own doelike brown eyes, her own slim form – there’s no cables attaching her to the ceiling.

this life is so very boring, so unlike the dreamy world she longed for as a foolish girl. i had long ruined my own life with my own dissatisfaction before someone else destroyed it for me.

viii.

longing lurks deep behind a golden - brown gaze / what comfort can she take in the jedi code, when it’s cold, hard … and ben’s hand is warm, all encompassing ? the code, the code … the temple is a stage, and the council pulls her strings, but the one thing they can’t take from her is her mind; in there, she is strong, stone. they encourage compassion: but no attachments. what is that, to her ? what is it compared to the sunlight she feels in ben’s eyes when he leans down to kiss her temple, or the delight serena can see in him when she enters the room ? ❪ because love is the death of duty, as wiser men say ❫ in many ways, she is greater than other girls; a doll - like padawan, bright, intelligent – but in the end, she is still human, and she finds no love within the code / only does she find the serenity it speaks of in ben’s embrace, and the way he bends over at the waist to hold her, and he is all around her like cologne. that is a glory & a tragedy worth dying for.

viii.

fear has always cut deep within serena’s soft skin; it was easy to pull her apart like a pomegranate, see the little pin - prick razors of fright, but nothing had made her so afraid since meeting the jedi. she’s a fragile heart wound tightly in red ribbons and strings, each tied to the pinkie finger of every person she loves. some of the ends are cut, some fray towards the latter, but she doesn’t forget. she doesn’t let go, not in her deep heart, where they are safe. the jedi don’t agree; and her body wracks with guilt as she resists placing ribbons on their fingers. they cannot love me, she knows / so why isn’t it enough to stop her ?

ix.

every part of my body aches. serena sits on the hard bathroom floor like a stain on the tile, the tulle of her practice skirt shimmering in the dim fluorescents. the plastic stall divider is freezing against her shoulders, and it hurts when her head falls back against it. the bathroom is empty, but the room is loud. DISGUSTING GIRL. IT HURTS. what hurts ? I CAN’T FIND IT ANYMORE, IT’S SPREAD LIKE A POISON. she finds sanctuary in her own little white lies, and this stall where none of the other ballerinas go – she’s a soloist, a prima; she is special. allegedly. she barely notices the wine - red trickle of blood that spills from her nose, gravity pulling it down her perfect pale face. the relief is nearly instant, whatever ache she’d had seems to fade away / her eyes hone in on the empty plastic bag, only remnants of white pill powder left. the same resin seems to linger on the tip of her pointe shoe, that she’d used to crush it all up. the urge to smash the wooden end of her slipper into the stupid godforsaken plastic container as hard as she can and see how much damage she can do washes over her; but she’s too shocked by the sudden violent urge to act on it. instead, serena lets the clarity & ability to focus drown out the voices that scream in her tender head, and brings herself to stand.

❪ 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐊 ❫

pink silk shimmers in the early morning sun; her blush is just as pretty, sitting across from her father at the iron balcony table. he is her king, her first love, and serena revels in the attention her father lavishes on her. everything is still so new, so beautiful, when she’s young – serena dreams of the future, of white veils and cotillions. her distance isn’t yet defensive, but a sweet daydream, of romantic notions & hopes. serena dreams of the far away, of paris and rushing crowds. you have the carlisle look, julian had told her, once. your brother has it too. someday, this world will be wrapped around your little finger. be kind to it. serena had smiled so lovely at that – let the world be kind. let it show her kindness.

xi.

❪ 𝐈𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐘 ❫

this is a private moment; but serena can feel the hidden camera lenses on her, seeking that million dollar photo of palpable grief, or the bullet hole in her father’s chest, as if it weren’t hidden from view behind his favorite suit. she won’t cry. serena had already emptied herself of every golden tear when she’d cleaned her father’s face, when she’d combed his hair. she was the one who’d laid his arms over his chest, with her favorite stuffed animal between them to keep him company. august pulls all her curls behind her head, and lays his hands on her thin shoulders, squeezing just enough to be a reassurance. a million questions ran through her head – every single one beginning with why.

her fingers drift, softly, for the last time, over her father’s cheek. she pretends it’s warm with life, and not chilling to the bone. if he could be killed, then no one is safe.

xii.

❪ 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐋 ❫

be kind to the world. serena’s innocence had died screaming, yet she still remembers the words her father had told her. sunlight streams through the trees above, but she is too stiff to move just yet; so she lies there in the grass, flowers having bloomed over the years of her sleep through her hair and around her body. a new era has begun, everything she knows is gone. everyone she loves is gone. maybe it’s the haziness of first waking up after a half - century, but there’s a determination beneath her silk skin, her ivory bones. serena has become something new, just as the world has – beneath the porcelain, her ribs have grown steel. she will not be so breakable ever again.

xiii.

in the movies, pearls are always being yanked from necks, the precious little beads clattering to the hardwood floor in bunches. serena allows the pretty necklace to drift through her fingers, remembering the time her mother had wrapped it around her neck. she’d felt like such a little madam in her maman’s pearls. there’s a little secret: those pearls in films, dramatic as they were, were fake. maman’s were genuine, and the little pieces were knotted in between, meaning even if she’d ripped them from her throat, only one or two at worst would go missing. her mother was too much of a lady, anyway … prone to melancholy and hurt, but not quite fits. what a complicated love, the one between a mother & a daughter … serena finds herself missing her mother’s arms more often than not these days, and the security that came with them.

xiv.

valentine’s day has always been a non - affair romantically; her favorites were dinner dates with her family, the men being the gentlemen, and the one day her maman would let her wear her red lipstick. the couples on the street below her balcony make her feel something, but is it jealousy, or nostalgia ? her palm cradles her jaw as she leans against the iron barrier. a man kisses a woman, and why does her heart lurch for something so impossible ? to love, to be loved … she would never be capable of it, her last boyfriend had told her so. adam had as well. anyone who would want to spend this day with her is dead, and no one else could accept the things she’d done, the person she’s become beneath the lace and ribbons. hallowed, broken.

xv.

i hate the dirt. i hate the grime that i can’t wash away, and the fingerprint i leave on the pristine envelope that the postman gives me, his gaze apologetic. until i look at the handwriting, i don’t understand why. it’s been a week since he could last reach us on the battlefield, to give us some form of comfort and relief, and he only gives me a single letter. there should be more. serena writes to me every day, there should be at least six or seven, all beginning with my dearest brother; but even the single letter isn’t from my sister, but my wife. i should be excited for that, but i’m not – not when i can’t fathom why there’s only this one letter. when i tear into it, a picture falls out: my wife, holding our son. this is a happy moment, and i can feel pressure build behind my eyes, but it’s distracted, because serena should be in this photo. she isn’t, because for some godforsaken reason she’s here in europe – and that’s enough to push the tears from my eyes. i should be there, and serena should be holding her nephew and accepting our request to be his godmother.

but she isn’t, and i’m not either.

xvi.

the streets of new york now aren’t so different from the streets of new york in my childhood. the fashion is different; women wear shorter skirts, deeper cuts to expose their collarbones, and these are changes i like. the buildings still creep into the clouds like pillars of divinity, and the sidewalks are crowded, but no one pays too much attention to anyone else. the men dress differently too, and those changes i don’t like, but if i sit and close my eyes … it’s still all the same, and i can picture the cars, the pretty women and handsome men … even my silly little girl friends, the ones who would walk with me during breaks in ballet when we had so little else to do. when i close my eyes, it doesn’t feel like a lifetime ago.

xvii.

it happens gradually, then all at once, like the impatience of waiting for a rose to blossom. one day you wake up, and it’s simply bloomed, petals spread wide in the sunshine. in that case, serena wonders which moment it was that made her realize her feelings for ben had flowered ── was it the time his fingers grazed hers on the piano keys, and he played the wrong note to make her laugh ? or perhaps when he smiled at her so earnestly, all white teeth and curled lips that met the crinkles by his eyes ? she can’t pinpoint the exact moment she realized she loves ben kenobi; serena only knows what she feels now, the safety of his warm hugs, the way the word ‘graves’ slips between her teeth and she doesn’t choke trying to reel it back in. home was something impossible, turned to ash & bone, but then she finds herself sitting at their table in the coffee shop & she thinks perhaps a home can be rebuilt.

xviii.

prayer used to come first thing in the morning, a mantra spoken breathlessly to open air. it’s not an ideology that serena subscribes to anymore ❪ part of her wonders if she ever did ❫ , but old habits had died hard. she wants to enjoy a new one. ben is there, barely awake while thick raindrops smack against the balcony doors, and serena shimmies his boxers down his thighs. she’s already asked him nicely, with her polite manners and pretty mouth ── and she tries to mask her eagerness with languid movements, laying her cheek to his hip and letting her long curls fall over his body. serena knows he can feel her by the way he shudders when her eyelashes flit over him, her rose - petal fingers everywhere and nowhere because they aren’t exactly where ben wants them. you should tell me what you like, serena offers with a wicked little smile, dragging his hand until he can grip her curls, holding sunshine in his palms.

xix.

when the legs beat against each other in the midst of a jete, it’s a battu jete … beaten. everything is more beautiful in french, and serena thinks it’s true of herself as well. she had been her company director’s little princess, sliding into his queen; she would’ve been the youngest prima ballerina in history. she would’ve had a life. she would’ve had a brother. orson does so much for her, and serena can hardly find it in herself to be grateful, can hardly repeat the pleasantries and manners she’d been taught to sing since she was a little girl letting words tumble from her mouth. instead, serena tries to create a peaceful world, she jumps at the chance to redesign the building he buys, create a setting of her own making; only to lay under the covers, sleeping next to a pillow she pretends is august.

xx.

disgusting. vile. serena watches august rip a newspaper in half, once, twice, then three times, letting the pieces fly onto the floor and cover the coffee table. the headline had once read about her, calling her a top three debutante in new york’s uppercrust society. not just in the top three, but ranked number one. shouldn’t we be proud ? serena asks him. shouldn’t i be flattered ? august had fallen to his knees in front of the chaise where she sat after that, holding her little hands in his own. he squeezes them so tight serena winces. tell me, he begs. tell me if anyone ever touches you. tell me, and i’ll kill them. with all the naivety in the world, serena giggles, shaking her head. nonsense, my darling brother. the only man i love is you; and the only man who shall ever touch me is not here yet.

xxi.

the sunlight doesn’t seem so bright, but the city is just as bustling as the last time she’d seen it. what year had that been ? somewhere around nineteen forty, serena thinks. her old ballet studio has moved; it’s previous location now just another parking lot in new york city. everything about it gives her whiplash. it’s all the same and all entirely different. she almost expects to see august across the street, handsome smile & hair swept back, but she knows she won’t. he’s dead, and so is everyone else she ever knew. there’s a pressure on her shoulders, wondering when someone will notice the imaginary blood seeping out of her core, or when someone will realize she’s half - dead. little walking dead girl, schrodinger’s girl, dead and alive.

xxii.

photographs from another era are spread all across the wooden table serena sits at, glimmering and shining in their black and white glory, sepia, and even a few colored ones. they all had a touch of grain to them, the consequence of new, unperfected technology, but serena adores them. after all, in every photo she sees the face of someone she loves. her grandfather royce, cradling the toddler version of herself in his arms, and then them at a later age, serena with her arms wrapped tightly around him. in another photo, serena sits in his lap, while her grandmother, the woman for whom she was named, hugs them both from behind. so many lost smiles, shining with no idea of what’s to come. her finger traces along another photo, of her mother posing with her in her first pair of pointe shoes. she’d been so proud that day, and serena can’t help but smile back at her. these little moments are all she has left now; what if she forgets it all someday ? at least she won’t forget their faces. serena glues the back of the photos, pasting them into a scrapbook. there are new people she doesn’t want to forget someday as well, and for them, serena glances at a newer camera. she doesn’t have to forget.

xxiii.

moy lebed. my swan. mr. nikolaev calls her that, from the first moment he saw her complete the thirty - two fouettés in odile’s coda. serena sighs into the open studio. the sky has long gone dark, and every other dancer and crew member has gone home — but she remains. this is the dedication that will make me the prima, serena reminds herself. this is what sets me apart. she counts the steps in her head until she loses herself to the imagined music, eyes closed while she moves her arms and tip - toes across the floor. serena is the very picture of a music box ballerina when she kicks her foot up, finding her north star and turning in pirouettes. not even the quiet opening of a door interrupts her focus. august takes her little waist in his hands and helps to give her the extra momentum. then he hoists her over his shoulder, telling her how mother is so worried, and she has to come home right away… all spoken with his hidden, wry smile.

xxiv.

i had never tried to impress anyone the way i’d tried to impress mr. nikolaev, my ballet master and choreographer. my every waking moment was spent under his scrutinizing gaze, attempting to dissect his utter dissatisfaction with the world for it’s lack of grace and beauty and what he felt towards me specifically … all in a leotard and tights that would only leave the color of my skin to our imaginations, and mirrors on every wall reminding me of that fact. i don’t know if i tried harder to gain his attention in the first place, or if i would have killed myself trying to keep it. no girl is ever more beautiful than they are at sixteen, and though i didn’t realize it, perhaps if i had lived to see him again in my later years he would’ve been impressed with my freckles, my dimples, and my big eyes at the age of twenty – i’ve heard i don’t look so different. still, i was even more girlish then than i am now, and three times as shy ; ballet was all i could use to get him to look at me, to make him pay attention & perhaps remember why he took this job in the first place after his own short, but famed career. i would be perfect ; not just for him, but for myself. it didn’t hurt anything that i was his little prima prodigy. he smiled for the first time when he called me his moy lebed, his swan, and i can’t remember the last thing, even now, that had made my heart soar so much.

xxv.

‘are you ready?’ on the cusp of spring in the midst of march, lies serena’s birthday. thirteen is such a special age for a girl ; not quite a woman yet, not quite a girl anymore, but leaving the throes of childhood behind. august’s question comes with an excited edge to his voice and a slim box in his hands, with pink wrapping paper and white ribbons. the other guests at the party had long dissipated, and serena sits on the edge of her bed, feet swinging back and forth to dissipate a bit of the thrill she feels. ‘i’ve been waiting all day!’ is what serena replies, taking the gift into her lap. her brother sits down next to her ; he’s twenty, seven years older, and a man grown, but it’s as if there’s no difference between them as august wraps his arm around her waist, matching brown eyes gleaming as he watches her carefully pry apart the paper to reveal a box of velvet. ‘it’s sentimental,’ august had said, as to why he couldn’t let her open it amongst the guests. private, serena thinks. her brother was always a private man. when she lifts the lid, and august uses his other hand to fold away the white paper, it reveals a precious, heart - shaped golden locket. he pulls it out by the chain, letting the pendent rest in serena’s palms. ‘it’s the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen,’ serena says, eyes glimmering. august’s fingers snap the clasp, and inside, a photo of himself on one side, and then a photo of their parents from their wedding day on the other. serena beams as august closes it then places the necklace around her neck, the pendent falling just at her collarbones. ‘it’s beautiful, my wonderful brother,’ she says, and august kisses her crown. ‘it’s almost as lovely as you, my sweet little sister, and you deserve lovely things. this way, we’ll always be with you.’

xxvi.

julian’s wedding band was like him ; it was a simple golden band, with ivy growing around it, interrupted only by a diagonal line of diamonds. when serena tilts it back, she can see her mother’s name engraved in it. eirene’s was a little flashier, with a bigger diamond in the center. it wasn’t because of her personality, though … in that, serena can still see her father, wanting to impress her, wanting to give his wife the world. julian’s ring occupies her left thumb ; she couldn’t bear to get it resized for her dainty hands, so it’s the best she could manage. he’d had a lithe frame, and for that she’s thankful – serena remembers sliding the ring off of his finger when she’d crossed his arms over his chest, holding it between her fingers. she had to have it. her mother had worn hers until the very last, until she had slipped from serena’s hand into the ocean’s embrace. serena had only been able to just clasp the ring, before it too could fall from her grasp. now, it rests on her index finger, where at least on her hands, her parents could still be together.

#◞ ⁽ ⠀ ♡ ⠀ ⁾ ⠀ ⠀ 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐔𝐄 ⠀ ⠀ —— ⠀ ⠀ the sweetest flowerets gleam.#◞ ⁽ ⠀ ♡ ⠀ ⁾ ⠀ ⠀ 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄 ⠀ ⠀ —— ⠀ ⠀ may these memories break our fall.

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keepswingin · 5 years ago

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25 Days of Angst

Day Five: This Night, We Pray

relationships: zed/addison rating: teen word count: 700+ summary: / read on: / warning for sensitive material that could upset some readers!

The hospital is too clean.

The hallways are spotless, and every counter is wiped clean immediately after someone touches it. The nurses all wear masks, and the doctors change their gloves after every little thing.

The hospital is too clean because death isn’t easy to clean up, and he wonders how these people do this job, day in, day out, wiping away little fingerprints and last kisses and aching bodies and smudged tears. He wonders how they cart away lifeless bodies, withered from age, and wrap newborns in receiving blankets, never once having a chance to be born.

He wonders how they wrapped his little baby boy with such ease and practiced care. He wonders how they heard nothing when the doctor was finally able to get him out and didn’t make a sound themselves.

He wonders how they get through it and continue on to the next day, onto another family, another injury, another job.

He wonders how his wife survived.

He wonders how his little baby boy didn’t.

She’s turned towards the closed blinds when he returns, a paper cup half-filled with water clutched in one trembling hand. The whiteboard hanging on the wall across from her bed has been wiped clean, and he doesn’t understand.

How can the nurses who had carried his little baby boy away be so strong when he feels like his life’s been ripped apart?

He moves closer to the bed, whispering her name softly as he takes a seat in the plastic chair he had left on the opposite side. She doesn’t turn towards him, doesn’t even flinch at the sound of her name, and with a sigh and a heavy heart he places the cup on the nightstand next to him.

They were both affected by this, both broken, but Addison hasn’t said a word since the nurses took her baby away.

He stares at her back for a moment more before reaching for the remote and clicking on the small television in the ceiling’s corner. Her eyes flicker towards it and she squeezes the hem of her gown tighter between her fingers.

Zed surfs through the channels before finally settling on the evening news, and he turns the volume up, just barely. “—expect up to four inches of snow overnight, and a white Christmas tomorrow—”

The news program goes silent, abruptly muted.

“Tomorrow's Christmas, Addy,” he whispers, voice barely above a whisper. She swallows and debates answering, but he’s continuing before she can decide. “I think we should name him Jack.” His voice is choked, strangled with an emotion she knows all too well.

It takes her a few seconds to gather her words, “Like Jack Frost?” She asks, already knowing the answer. Her voice is hoarse from disuse.

“Like Jack Frost.” He pauses, and the unspoken words hang in the air. They were going to name him—

“I can’t say it.” Her voice is frantic all of a sudden and pitched high. “I can’t say I—”

Her voice cuts off but he’s already pushing his chair back and climbing into bed behind her, wrapping his arms around the deflated swell of her belly. “Zed I can’t say it,” she cries, tears slipping down her cheeks.

There’s a lump in his throat as he pulls her closer, his chin settling on her shoulder, his nose poking at her hair. He doesn’t know what to say because he doesn’t think he can say those words either. Not after this.

“Zed,” she sobs, her voice muffled by her pillow as she turns away from him, and he feels tears start to fall down his cheeks too. “My baby,” she whispers, “they took my baby, they took him from me.”

“He was gone, Addy. He was gone before we even had the chance to meet him.” He doesn’t know what comes next. He doesn’t know if it’s postpartum or divorce. He doesn’t know, and right now, he doesn’t want to find out.

Right now he just holds her as she cries while he cries silently along with her. He wonders if his little baby boy is happy, wherever he is. He wonders if it’s possible for them to find happiness again someday.

He wonders.

our lives, will show

#disney zombies #disney zombies fanfiction #disney zombies fanfic #zed x addison #zeddison #25 days of angst #keepswingin writes #mine #the link at the end is to the christmas song i was listening to while writing this #it's an absolutely beautiful christmas song #just the music in itself is amazing #definitely give it a listen if you've never heard it before #anyway this one is pretty angsty #and a bit on the heavy side #i'd like to think they're like 25/26 in this #but yeah let me know if i broke your heart #it's what i strive for #(okay it's not it's just an added bonus to being a writer lol)

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planetsam · 6 years ago

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could u write something were Alex stayed with michael the night rosa died? happy ending of course!!

He’s going to die.

That’s the only thought he has as the world goes white and hot. This is different from the exorcism or those foster dads who spoke with their belts. Any movement he makes he can feel the sickening sensation of something inside him shifting. He can’t think past the blinding pain. He’s going to die on this floor is his only thought. Every breath he takes brings the world back into focus and the pain gets that much worse. Everything seems to slow down. The last thing he expect to see in the world is the sight of Alex on top of his father. There’s blood, Michael realizes dimly. Blood is everywhere. He realizes that Alex isn’t stopping. His tongue is thick in his mouth but he tries to force the words out.

“‘Lex?” Alex doesn’t stop, “Alex!” He still doesn’t stop. Michael sets his nerves and moves his hand, just a bit. The pain explodes again and he thinks he gasps, but there’s a ringing in his ears and he can feel his throat working. “Alex.”

Alex is there suddenly, crouched with him under the table. Horror is painted all over his beautiful features and Michael can see the fingerprint discoloration from his father’s grip. Michael looks at Alex’s blood splattered knuckles and then back at the limp form of his dad. Dimly he remembers that Alex is the youngest of four. Everyone’s in the military. He also remembers prom and Alex slugging that douche. Alex knows how to throw a punch. He doesn’t look like it right now though. He looks sick. He’s pale and his eye makeup is smudged. He reaches for Michael and then wipes his hands on his pants quickly when he sees the blood on them. His hands hesitate and Michael has to fight the desperate urge to move his own hand.

“My hand,” he chokes out.

“God,” Alex squeezes his eyes shut and then gets up. Michael is mindful of how he turns as Alex grabs a bed sheet and rips a long strip from it. It’s easy to find a board and he comes back over, “I’m going to move your hand onto this,” he says.

“No, don’t—“ Michael starts to protest.

“It’s okay,” Alex says, his voice coming out much stronger, “I’ll be careful.”

Michael looks up at him. Whatever his hand looks like must be horrible, Alex has gone several shades paler. But he smiles reassuringly. Michael looks away and presses his face into his own arm. Alex is so carefully and Michael does his absolute best to muffle the sound he makes as Alex gets his hand onto the board. He wraps the strips of the sheet around it and carefully brings it across his chest. He secures the board and hand to his bare chest and then comes back around. Michael realizes he must be truly in shock because Alex has his hoodie in his hands and gently tugs it over Michael’s shoulders.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says.

“No,” Michael says, “no hospitals.” Alex stares at him. Michael takes a chance and looks down at his hand. His stomach rolls and he’s sick before he can stop himself. Those don’t look like his fingers. Alex looks gutted when he raises his head, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, “I can’t go to the hospital. I need Max.”

“Max?” Alex frowns, “Max Evans?”

“Yes,” Michael grips the front of Kyle’s shirt, “I need Max.”

“I don’t understand. You need the hospital,” he says, “Michael your hand—“ he shakes his head, “we can call Max while we’re on our way there.”

“No, no if I go to the hospital,” he scrambles for the excuse he needs, “they’ll send me back to my foster dad.”

“Then we’ll lie,” Alex says, guiding him to his feet, “you can’t lose your hand.”

“I can’t afford a doctor,” he tries.

“I’ll pay for it,” Alex tells him rashly.

Michael stumbles and realizes they’re outside. Being steered towards the car. Ever step is agony and when he blinks again he’s in the car. Alex is in the drivers seat. He tries to start the engine and Michael bows his head. If he blacks out from the pain, which seems like it’s a real possibility, he’s going to wind up in the hospital. In the hospital means that they will know what he is. He’s not that different, far as he can tell, but he’s different somehow. He curls over his mangled hand which throbs agonizingly. He needs his brother and a gallon of acetone and Alex doesn’t—can’t—know any of that. It’s been told to him time and time again. He fully agrees. Or he has up until this moment. He would sell his soul for Max or acetone right now.

“Alex,” he says, grabbing Alex’s hand, “no hospitals.”

“I don’t understand,” Alex says, “why not? If I don’t take you to a hospital you’re going to be maimed! This is my fault, I’ll make sure you don’t go back into the system. You just need to trust me. I can’t—I can’t have you be maimed because of me.”

“Alex,” he repeats his name, ��I can’t go to the hospital.”

“Why not?!”

“I’m an alien.”

Alex whips his head towards him so fast, Michael thinks he might have cracked his neck. Alex stares like he can’t decipher what Michael is saying and Michael doesn’t blame him. He’s never said the words out loud like this. Alex isn’t laughing in his face, which is what he thought it would always be. He’s also not flooring it to the nearest psych ward. Which is also how Michael thought this would go. He’s just staring at him. Probably trying to decide if he’s in shock or not. Michael’s pretty sure that he’s in shock but he is also an alien. He knows what it’s going to do but he has to prove to Alex what he is. So he focuses and uses his abilities to tug Alex’s necklace off and hold it in front of him for as long as he can. It drops into his lap as Michael opens the door and vomits again. When he turns around, Alex is wedged against the drivers side door staring at the necklace in his lap.

“I need Max,” he says, leaning his head back and closing his eyes, “Max and acetone and I’ll answer whatever you want. Just—no hospitals. Please.”

Michael doesn’t try to hide his sob of relief as the car hums to life.

When he opens his eyes again Alex is sliding back into the car. Michael expected them to be in a drugstore but they’re somewhere he doesn’t recognize. Alex digs into the bag and pulls out a bottle. Michael’s eyes widen. They’re usually drinking nail polish remover that has a percentage of Acetone but this is just acetone. He barely remembers he only has one working hand. Then he has to watch Alex take off the plastic wrapping and unscrew the cap. Michael is sure he has questions but his survival instincts kick in and he grabs the bottle, pouring it down his throat. The pain instantly lessens its death grip on him. He lowers the bottle, letting the pain relief coast through his veins. His head clears, just enough for him to look over at meet Alex’s stunned gaze. Alex pulls out his phone and looks from Michael to the information and back again. Michael wants to laugh.

“I’m not trying to off myself with nail polish remover,” he says, “it’s, uh, it’s like a pain reliever,” he explains, “for me.”

“Because you’re an alien,” Alex says.

Michael nods.

“I had sex with an alien,” he says, his voice still dull and distant.

“We prefer the term probing,” Michael says.

“Oh my God,” Alex looks at him with complete horror, “I had sex with an alien who likes terrible puns,” his eyes widen, “I made out with an alien in the ufo emporium,” he grips the steering wheel, “oh my God,” he repeats.

“I appreciate your very valid right to freak out right now,” Michael says, “but is there any way we can get to Max.”

“Oh—oh!” Alex looks at his hand, “yes, hang on,” he starts the car again.

Michael slumps back in the seat, seeing if it helps if he gingerly rests his hand against the board. It doesn’t. He still feels sick and the pain is getting worse, even with the acetone. He can also feel distress coming from his siblings. He has to get to them. He needs Max’s help. He also feels like he needs to be sick again or he might black out.

“Hey, talk to me,” Alex says, breaking through his fog, “Michael, talk to me,” he repeats, “tell me about being an alien.”

Michael laughs.

“Where—“ he shakes his head, “where do I start?”

“Uh,” Alex fumbles, “the beginning. Start at the beginning.”

“I was in a pod,” he starts.

The story is weird to say aloud and in one go. Several times Alex almost gets them into full on accidents. But the story comes out, as cut and dry as Alex can make it. He tells him about the pods, about waking up, about being separated. He tells him as much as he can before they get to where the others are. They aren’t alone. Michael turns to Alex as fast as he can, before Alex gets out of the car.

“Stay here,” he says.

“You have one hand,” Alex points out.

“You gotta stay here,” Michael says, “I don’t know what happened but if you stay here you could—“ he doesn’t know what to say, “you could walk away from this.”

Alex’s eyes darken and he leans forward. Michael swallows at the determination in his eyes. Everything’s gone to shit and is going to go even more in that direction, but looking at Alex’s dark eyes in his smudged makeup, the most coherent thought Michael has is that he loves him. That he would go for his father again and again, how ever many times he had to to keep him safe. But the words tangle in his mouth as he stares at him.

“No,” Alex says and gets out of the car.

Michael scrambles to keep up.

There is so much death.

Michael’s seen one person die because of them but there’s three. And a whole lot of questions where Alex is involved. But Alex is beautiful and defiant and the unwelcome voice of reason as they stage a cover up and Michael lies to protect Isobel. When he does, Alex grips his good hand so tightly Michael thinks that maybe they can get through this. One alien or all the aliens, it doesn’t matter who killed them. Max tries to bring Rosa back and winds up collapsed there, barely able to move. Alex helps them stage the wreck on the condition they put all the girls in the back seat. Let the police run circles around how that happened.

“What about his hand?” Alex asks.

“I can’t,” Max mumbles, “right now. Michael—“

“I’ll be fine for tonight,” Michael assures him. He looks at Alex pleadingly. Alex clenches his jaw, “get him home Iz.”

“Tomorrow,” Max says.

Michael nods. He holds it together right up until the pair of them leave. Then he kind of folds over his arm and tries not to scream. Everything is wrong and the pain in his hand is unbelievable. But Alex wraps his arms around him, whispering nonsense as he helps support his arm and guides him back to the car. They don’t have anywhere to go, Michael realizes. Either of them. Alex doesn’t seem very upset by that and Michael has never had anywhere else to go. Michael directs them to his old spot and directs Alex to setting up the tarp. They crawl under, tucking together in his sleeping bag. The blue paints Alex a different shade of beautiful and Michael stares at him.

“I wanted to tell you what I was,” he says. Alex looks at him, “before we—“ he trails off.

“Had sex?”

“Kissed,” Michael says.

“Does anyone else know?” Alex asks. Michael shakes his head, “I’m the first person you told?” He nods. Alex looks at him for another moment and shifts closer, “how’s your hand?”

“It hurts,” Michael says honestly, “but I’d do it again.”

Alex dips his head, resting his forehead briefly on Michael’s shoulder. The future before them is dizzying with all of its possibilities. Alex knows and they’ve wound up together anyway. Alex knows and he’s not under the same roof as his abusive dick of a father. The truck’s not ideal, but for the first time it feels like a start and not a life sentence. Michael has no idea if they can figure this out or even what figuring it out might look like. But he presses his cheek to the crown of Alex’s head and like he has since Alex came into his life properly, he closes his eyes and lets himself believe he has a place here.

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex fic #roswell new mexico #malex #roswell nm fanfic #michael x alex #prompts #malex fanfic #i got so inspired by this idea i am still awake bc i had to write it

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thecoloroftime-blog · 5 years ago

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Which type of prints should I choose for my home? How it will look on my wall?

Top questions we get asked often while purchasing Canvas Printing — Which type of prints should I choose for my home? How it will look on my wall?

It appears many of the buyers are confused about this so in this section will explain you all of your queries. We will address the pros and cons of canvas prints and hopefully, after reading this, you’ll be able to decide for yourselves why to choose printposters.in to print your canvas.

You know, there are mainly 2 types of prints. The basic one printed on roll canvas and the second is gallery wrap canvas which is mounted on a pine wood frame, both are printed on archival type Canvas with using branded machine-like Epson and Canon.

Here is why…

Canvas prints are classy and give depth to photo

Would you like a classic look on your wall? Then you will definitely love the textured finish of canvas prints which enhances your walls. The canvas prints are based on advanced inkjet printing technology and they look almost like original paintings as printing can produce 98% of the colour gamut. You could even feel the clean brush strokes when you print paintings onto a canvas as the textured finish will give 3d effects for brush strokes. Originally all canvas print has a textured look. This textured look on matte finish reflects less light and as a result, you will enjoy a glare-free view similar to that of an original painting. So always go with a matte finish.

See above canvas print which actually looks like the original painting

Canvas prints available with printposters.in are the highest quality of art reproductions as they work with lots of artist across the globe. They use pigment-based inks to reproduce Canvas prints. The color absorption in canvas is much better than that of paper so as life. Canvas Prints can last lifelong with fading colours on it. By using archival ink and high-quality canvases, these types of art prints offer an accurate reproduction of original art. So always check with the supplier about this.

And guess what, if you keep an original painting and canvas print side by side, you won’t quickly recognise the difference between canvas prints. Perfect reproduction of any Canvas art print.

You can make larger prints on canvas up to 5 X 8 feet with framing

You can make large canvas prints check the above example

To print maximum size print? If you are thinking to prints large size on canvas the image should be of at least 300 PPI (Pixels Per Inch) resolution. Otherwise, your print will look pixelated. The maximum hi-resolution image you provide the higher will be the print quality

The colour absorption on canvas is higher, even you can print larger sizes of canvas prints at a lower resolution but it is not recommended as printers print with the maximum resolution.

So, if you are thinking about hanging a large fine art canvas prints, then canvas prints are the ones you should buy for its advantage!

Canvas prints reproduce better colours with a higher colour printer. Almost 98% colour gamut …

Canvas prints produce better colours with increased in numbers of cartridges

Do you know why artist prefer canvas prints over other kinds of prints due to its colour vibrancy?

That’s because canvases produce colours more accurately than other types of prints. Even the printer, which prints on canvas have higher colour gamut.

Printing on to canvas requires specialized printers and only professionals and branded printers produce the highest quality print. As a result, you get a carefully produced, higher quality, rich in colours print which last for generations.

On top of that, this canvas print does not require any specialised coating as its inks are water resistance that protects the print from dust and moisture. Even you can wash canvas under running water. This resulting in vivid and bright art reproductions with better colours without any reflection on matte canvas.

Canvas prints are easy matches with the wall of the colour…

Canvas prints easily match with existing wall colour

Canvas prints are an easy and affordable way to change the look of your walls without any hazel. You can decorate your home with canvas art prints mainly in two ways. Either by framing it as you normally do but it is not recommended or by stretching it on to a pine wooden frame.

The gallery wrapped canvas frames weigh less than conventional frames as they don’t need glass or any kind of protection to keep them safe also the frame which is manufactured from pine wood is also light weighted. Because of this, these canvas art pieces are easy to hang on the wall and are also easier to clean. Even you can hang the canvas frame on the wall using two-way tape.

This frame-less presentation of the canvas is wrapped on a pine wood frame creates a window into the scene and easily matches with almost all types of interior design. Since there are no mats or borders to these art pieces, the entire size fills with artwork giving a unique visual appearance on your walls

Large multi-panel canvas art prints for large covering of wall area

You can also decorate your wall with multi panel canvases made by splitting a single panoramic artwork or any photo to a multiple parts. The size and number of these panels depends on the size of your wall and can be customised as per your design also. They can be a great focal point art pieces on the walls above a living room sofa or in the dining area.

It’s super easy to clean canvas prints

Canvas prints are easy to maintain as it’s a water resistance print

No matter how well you have maintained your home, dust will settle and spiders would make a mess on these prints. Then, you need to clean you are fine art collection using water. Use of water go ahead and clean using running water no problem

The canvas prints come with water resistance ink printing. This water-resistant ink protects the art from harmful UV rays and to a certain extent from dust and other atmospheric particles. This inks also keeps your art free from fingerprint smudges.

When you clean a canvas art print, you can simply use a lightly damp cloth or running water or an artist brush to remove the dirt from the surface. Once cleaned, you can even dry the canvas in sunlight.

Canvas prints are a lot more durable than other types of prints due to the use of archival inks with media

Canvas prints last long as printposters.in use archival inks with media.

When you buy something for your home, you want it to last long, so always go for archival ink printing on canvas? The canvas prints are a perfect match for this purpose as its last lifetime.

There are two types of canvas used for printing. One based on 100% cotton (similar to original canvas paintings) and a new type based on plastic compounds that are similarly durable.

Both of these are better at fighting the elements of nature and therefore last longer than normal prints.

That’s not the only advantage of using canvas prints. They don’t fade like normal paper print. Have you noticed regular paper turning yellow when they are long exposed to nature but canvas doesn’t fade or turn yellow in colour. Well, that takes longer with regular canvas prints and don’t happen at all with plastic-based canvas prints.

Canvas prints are a lot more durable than paper-based prints. And interestingly, just about printposters.in has come to the same conclusion – that canvas prints have a life of 100+ years.

After reading this, you may be of the notion that canvas prints are a better choice with printposters.in. That can be true always. It depends on your choice can be affected by many factors — the type of artwork you want to print, your budget, your tastes, and preferences, wall size, and the location where you want to keep this artwork and finally the interior design of your home.

Texture on canvas prints which enhance quality

Some of these reasons should be obvious. For others, let me explain. Let’s say, you want to print photographs on canvas — this is usually recommended. Because of the textured matte finish, photographs printed on canvas can be the best look for wedding photos. So, if you are the one who likes the glossy smooth finishes, then go with glossy canvas print. On the other hand, if you want your art reproduction to look almost like the original, you should go with a matte canvas print.

#Which type of prints should I choose for my home? How it will look on my wall

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shadow172writes · 6 years ago

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Shelter

(Hello! This is a little drabble I tapped out this morning on a whim. I have no immediate continuation planned, but there may be a second chapter :D See ya later!)

Dari glared through the smeared glass wall in front of him, just able make out the vague shape of the human on its other side. The man moved back and forth, doing one of several pointless activities. He always seemed to be busy, hurrying around, yet achieving nothing. Dari sighed, standing up from the fake, hollow rock in the center of his aquarium. The top was flat, and since there was nothing else besides sand and a blue, headache inducing light, he took to sitting on it. He was used to having a height advantage, and it itched at him to be stuck down below. Were it not for small details, one might have thought Dari was human. His skin was a light brown, his hair a deep, earthy violet that could have been achieved with a simply box of dye. He was thinner than would seem healthy, but he still had some lean muscle that hadn’t been stripped from him by captivity. However, he did have more unusual features; for instance, his bright lavender eyes, his remaining wing, and his height of slightly less than four inches. He slid down from the side of the rock, feet hitting the crunching sand that covered the glass bottom of the container. When he’d first been dumped here, he’d tried to dig through it, wailing in despair when all he found was hard glass. He turned, ducking his head to enter the enclosed space of the rock. It was still uncomfortable to be in such a small, dark area, but in some ways, it was preferable to being out there, where he knew he was completely exposed. Dari didn’t remember how long he’d been here. A month, maybe, or three. Long enough that the days were starting to blend together, despite how carefully he’d tried to keep track of them. The only moments of notice were when the human took him out of his container, took photos of him with the black rectangle he always held. Dari vaguely remembered his sister telling him it was a ‘phone’. She loved human things. Watching the human’s outline settle down on the flat surface of his bed, Dari did the same, pressing his cheek against the sand and closing his eyes. Behind him, one iridescent wing twitched uneasily. ** Dari next woke to an earsplitting grating sound, sitting up so abruptly that he knocked his head on the roof of his rock. Before he could process it, the rock was lifted away and set aside, a pale hand wrapping around him tightly enough to knock the air from him. He just had enough time to get one hand free, heaving for breath as he was yanked upwards. Large, blue eyes stared at him, pale and unnerving. The human’s pale face was split into a broad smile. “Well, Dari, guess what?” He said, a bounce in his step as he walked over to the table. His grip tightened briefly in a ‘gentle’ squeeze. Dari could already feel the bruises he’d be nursing later. “Answer me.” “What?” Dari wheezed, steadying himself with one hand pressed to the human’s knuckle. It had been a few days since he’d been taken out of his container, but he was adjusting quickly. The human spoke again, his voice sing-song and delighted. “I’ve finally found someone to buy you.” Dari’s heart dropped into his stomach. No. This was the moment he’d been dreading – at least this one’s intention was only to have him sold – for the most part, he’d left Dari be. Who knew what a buyer would do with him? “Oh, don’t look like that.” The human chided. “I’m sure they’ll take good-“ He broke off at the sound of a knock at the door. “Shit, is that them?” He muttered. Heading over to the tank, he unceremoniously dumped Dari inside, not bothering to seal the lid as he headed to answer the door. Dari fell to his knees, gulping down lungfuls of air he’d been denied in the human’s grasp. His heart was racing, hands trembling, and his whole wing made a faint buzzing sound, dragging him ever so slightly to the right with the force of its agitated flitting. He felt as if he were frozen, hearing the faint, muffled sound of voices. The human was bartering – Dari had heard him do it on the phone, before. Then, suddenly, his legs started moving. The rock was at the side of his container. He worked his fingers under it, heaved upwards. It barely moved, but move it did. He shifted, got himself under the thing, and pushed upwards with all of his might. Arms trembling, he managed to lift it to his height. Ever so carefully – any sound would bring the human’s attention to him – he propped it against the glass side of the aquarium. He slipped out from underneath the rock. Footsteps. Scrambling onto the rock’s top, he tried to find grip on its smooth surface. The voices were louder – “I’m so glad you’ve taken this opportunity.” The human said. Dari reached the top of the rock. The aquarium’s edge was still high above him. He leapt, his wing fluttering uselessly. He missed the edge by a hair, and the rock suddenly slid down an inch. It made a faint squeak on the glass, but judging by the calm, muffled voices of the humans, Dari didn’t think they’d heard. He leapt again, heart pounding like a hummingbird’s as he saw his outstretched hand approach the glass edge. It caught. Muscles quivering with effort, he heaved himself up over the lid. Next to him was the light that the human had clipped onto the side of his container – vitamin D, he’d said, Dari needed vitamin D. A cord trailed from its base to somewhere over the edge of the table where his aquarium was sat. Dari grabbed it, allowing himself to slide down the thick plastic. As he did so, the air erupted with a sudden, terrifying curse. The human had arrived. Dari wasn’t sure how he managed to escape. His head was pounding with the sound of his own heartbeat, his arms and legs screaming. He dropped into a grate full of dust, coughing as he ran down it. Faintly, he heard screaming and cursing behind him, his ears throbbing with the noise. ** When the sound faded, Dari stopped running. Now, he walked, legs trembling with the effort of staying upright. He’d made so many turns, continued on in this darkness, that he thought he might well die here. Somehow, he didn’t think he’d mind – at least he’d have died on his own terms. He didn’t quite see the faint streaks of light in the floor approaching, not until he found his foot hitting a thin grate instead of solid metal. By then, of course, it was too late, and he was falling through open air. A hoarse scream escaped him, hands stretched out as though he could grab the lip of the vent that was by now so far from him. And then he hit ground, his breath leaving him. Instead of agonizing pain, however, he simply…bounced. The impact still left him dizzy and disoriented, his bruises aching in protest, but he wasn’t injured. He rolled onto his back, trying to understand what had just happened. It wasn’t quite as dark here as it had been in the vent, but he still couldn’t see where he was. And then the light of one of those cursed ‘phones’ glared into his face. Behind it, he saw two wide, dark eyes, staring at him. Up until now, Dari had always been silent in the face of danger. That was simply how he handled fear – his mind went quiet, his body stiff and unmoving. This time, he screamed, scrambling to his feet and praying, begging the gods not to leave him here, not to put him in the hands of another human. The bed – that’s what this was, he realized, a bed – moved, fabric pulling out from under his feet, and he fell again. Before he could reclaim his feet, he felt the warm pressure of a human’s hands, curling around his waist and lifting him up. He sobbed, arms covering his head as he was brought up to the human’s face. He didn’t want to see it – he didn’t want to admit that this was real, that he’d gone straight from one captor to another. A voice, soft and still loud enough to vibrate through him. “Are you okay?” The human whispered. He shifted, and a sudden, bright light made it through Dari’s arms. He just continued to cry, taking shuddering breaths between his ugly sobs. The grip around him changed, until Dari found himself sitting in a pair of cupped hands. He didn’t try to escape – he’d learned from his snapped wing that struggling in a human’s grasp just resulted in injury. He curled into himself, brought his knees to his chest and covered his face, weeping his grief as though the human wasn’t watching him. ** Mat didn’t know what to do about this situation. He’d been asleep – or, trying to sleep, at least – and this…this person, thing, had just up and landed on his bed, out of the ancient air conditioning grate that he’d been meaning to replace for so many years. Looking at him outright, Matt didn’t make the most intimidating figure in the world. He was an author, and as such spent a great deal of time sitting at a keyboard, staring miserably at a bright screen. He had dark skin and eyes, a soft build, a pair of fingerprint-smudged glasses that he’d haphazardly shoved onto his face, and curly hair constantly bound back into a short poof at the back of his head. The only thing mildly impressive about him was his height – at slightly over six feet and five inches, Matt was usually a head or so taller than the people he met. This, however, was a bit extreme. Staring down at the crying figure in his hands, Mat half-wondered if he was dreaming. That would make sense, though this was a veryvivid dream, in that case. “Um…” He began, hesitating when he saw and felt the elf-thing flinch. “Who are you?” He tried, his voice the barest whisper he could manage. He caught a glimpse of two pale, glowing eyes, giving him a glare as though he’d personally killed the elf’s entire family. Then came a soft, muffled voice, so quiet he almost couldn’t hear it. “Dari.” Dari? Was that a name? He assumed it must be, feeling slightly emboldened by his success. “Okay, Dari.” He said slowly. “I’m Mat.” Dari kept his head buried in his arms. Mat could see his back shuddering, his sobs so quiet they were nearly drowned out by the fan against the wall. “Can I ask why you were in my A/C vent?” He ventured. Dari stiffened, and this time, didn’t reply. Mat was beginning to realize that he wasn’t getting any sleep, tonight. First his upstairs neighbors screaming and cursing up a storm, now this? “Okay…let’s just get out of bed, before we do anything else.” He said, mostly to himself. He slipped out of bed, putting on his slippers. Carefully, he eased Dari into one palm, fingers curled up like a guard rail to make sure he didn’t fall. One glimmering wing fluttered against his palm, tickling, and Mat’s fingers twitched. This was so, so bizarre. As he stood, he felt two small hands press into his skin, the fairy now looking up at him with wide, terrified eyes. That was…such a strange way to be looked at. It made Mat feel guilty for something he hadn’t done. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He found himself saying, eyebrows furrowed in a defensive sort of way. Again, Dari didn’t respond, though his fearful gaze turned more to a fearful glare. Matt shuffled into the kitchen, finding the light and turning it on. Dari flinched again when the room brightened, tense and quivering. He’d stopped crying, finally, but his face was tear-streaked, his eyes reddish and half-lidded. In truth, he looked like nothing but terror was keeping him awake. Matt pulled open a drawer, fished out a plush hand towel, and placed it on the kitchen table. Then, gently, he set Dari on top of the towel. “Is that any better?” Naturally, Dari didn’t reply. Two minutes of interaction, and they were starting to set a theme. Dari continued to look at Mat as though he was being tested, suspicion in his tired, lavender eyes. In the light, Mat was starting to see that there were deep bruises along Dari’s arms and legs, creating mottled patterns that were uncomfortably similar to fingerprints. Just what had happened to him?

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lovecustomartofficial · 4 years ago

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Learn How to Store Paintings Without Ruining Them

Moving to a new home? Selling a piece of art? Storing your paintings until the cat burglar is captured? This guide will show you how to store paintings for the short term or long term.

Someone who doesn’t know a great deal about artwork might pack up a painting with a simple sheet of newsprint and call it a day.

Storing a painting requires specific conditions to ensure that the paint, canvas, and frame don’t withstand any damage.

While it’s tempting to lean a painting against a storage unit wall, we know that there are safer ways to store artwork. This guide goes through some crucial advice for how to store paintings without devaluing them.

Understand the risks involved in handling fine art

According to The Conservation Register, the biggest risks to a painting or other works of art are:

Breakages, tears, loose and missing elements, impacts, smudges.

Fingerprints etched into polished surfaces.

Stains and marks from skin contact, eating, smoking, cosmetics and other domestic chemicals.

Introduction of materials and conditions that encourage pests or other environmental damage: foods, other infested objects, poor storage materials, central heating, damp, intense light.

The common link? People - People accidentally break, rip or spill their coffee onto their precious paintings. They put their grubby fingers all over the surface. They store their art in a convenient place, like their moldy basement.

Turn your photos into hand painted oil portraits with the help from our professional artists - LoveCustomArt.com

Follows these steps when packing a painting.

Minimize contact - The first step to conserving oil paintings and other artwork during transportation or storage is to minimize human contact. An easy way to accomplish this is to create a barrier between you and the painting during the packing process.

Wrap in plastic - Use plastic to wrap the painting to keep it clean and protect the finish.

Seal with styrofoam - Use a custom-sized styrofoam box to ensure that the painting is safe and snug.

Put in a small box - Place the styrofoam-packed painting into a close-fitting cardboard box. If you already have appropriately-sized boxes, use them. If you do not have a box, you can make one from a couple of good-sized sheets of cardboard and a box cutter.

Pack with dense packing material - Make sure that you fill any space with bubble pack to avoid bouncing or jarring in transit, then seal the entire apparatus shut with packing tape. Avoid peanuts or any packing material that can get smashed or settle over time.

3. Learn how to transport a painting with care.

Be careful when driving - Make sure your painting won’t flop around, or worse, become a missile if you stop suddenly.

Store the painting vertically - When laying flat, something (or someone) could fall, flop or sit on your painting.

Protect the painting with other objects - If you must lay the artwork flat, slide the painting against something solid in case you have to stop quickly. Proactively minimize the opportunity for sudden impact. Bringing a blanket or pillow for extra cushioning is also recommended.

Pick a reliable carrier - Are you shipping the art through a professional carrier? Each service — whether you are considering the United States Postal Service or a private company like FedEx or UPS — has unique rates, rules and standards for shipping based on the size and weight of your parcel. You can use an online calculator to compare rates to get an idea of what you will pay.

Insure against damage - You should also strongly consider purchasing shipping insurance since your work of art could be irreplaceable

4. Consider these tips when storing a painting.

Never store artwork in some places dry or damp - Do not store paintings in a basement or attic. Choose some place with consistent temperature and moderate humidity, like a climate controlled storage unit.

Don’t store paintings on top of each other - If you must lay your painting or paintings flat, use a rack to keep the artwork off the ground and each other. Frames and canvases can absorb dampness from concrete and other materials and can get distorted in the frame if there is too much weight on top of them.

Keep paintings away from fluctuating temperatures - If there is a furnace in your storage space, or inadequate heating or cooling, the sudden changes can damage your art.

Stay away from the sun - Direct sunlight can fade colours. Keep paintings covered with an acid-free cloth or leave the artwork in its travel packaging.

Don’t forget about the painting in storage - When storing paintings, it’s easy to toss it into storage and forget about it. The problem with this is that potential hazards can’t be monitored and remedied if you don’t check in every few months. Keep an eye out for signs of rodents or moisture and make corrections as needed.

5. Keep paintings safe inside a storage unit.

If you plan to keep your art in storage for an extended period, consider working with professionals. Life Storage can provide climate and temperature controlled storage, clean, secure units and the peace of mind you don’t necessarily get when you keep paintings in the attic. Use our online guide to find storage locations near you.

We turn your Photos into art that will last many a lifetime! - LoveCustomArt.com

Post credit: https://www.lifestorage.com/

#painting gift #painting #painting from photographs

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mygdigitalhub-blog · 4 years ago

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Best Smartphones with Good Camera Quality Under Rs.15,000

Smartphones with good camera quality have become a necessity. Everyone loves capturing pictures that they heartily wish to get in a perfect and unique manner.

Now, are you the one who is in search of a budget-friendly smartphone holding good camera quality?

Alright, we are here to help you out, which makes you grab the right smartphone with the right specifications you are in need of.

We’ve conducted in-depth research about each smartphone that comes under Rs.15000 with standard camera quality. This article will surely help you to pick the right smartphone of your choice.

Best camera smartphones Under Rs.15,000

- Poco M2Pro - Realmi 6i - Realme Narzo 10

Now, let’s dive into the shortlisted smartphones in detail.

1. Poco M2 Pro

Tagged as a re branded version of the Redmi Note 9 series, Poco M2 Pro is the latest smartphone in India with a notable tweak in its camera design and performance. Launched with a cool design, great camera, and long-lasting battery, Poco M2 Pro is gonna hit the mobile phone industry.

Design and Build Quality

Poco M2 Pro with its glossy finish gives a royal look that won’t let you bat an eyelid.

The perfect finish with a quick responsive fingerprint sensor mounted at the side and a p2i splash-resistant coating makes it attract smudges.

Poco M2 Pro covered with a Corning Gorilla Glass protection on both sides promises the utmost protection to the very handy device.

The seamless touch experience and smooth performance make Poco M2 Pro the first choice among the rest.

Display

The Poco M2 Pro comes with a 6.67-inch IPS LCD FHD+ panel holding a resolution of 2400 x 1080 pixels.

The tall aspect ratio of the screen with a cute punch-hole cutout at the center delivers a seamless viewing experience.

Featuring Widevine L1 certification lets you watch Full HD video content on the Open Telecom Platform (OTP).

Processor and Performance

Twinning the hardware as in Redmi Note 9 Pro, Poco M2 Pro is powered by an octa-core Snapdragon 720G processor which never compromises in its performance.

Comes in a 64GB internal storage + 6GB RAM along with highly capable hardware, multitasking in Poco M2 Pro is as easy as you breathe.

Poco M2 Pro is the best companion for ultra gamers who love playing popular games like Asphalt 9, PUBG, and others with the best performance ever.

The 60Hz display makes Poco M2 Pro deliver an immense viewing experience.

Camera

Featuring a quad-camera setup, Poco M2 Pro is one of the affordable smartphones that you can rely on.

Comes in a 48 MP Samsung GM2 primary senor is capable of furnishing you with standard images with good detail.

The coverage and detailing are really impressive with the 8MP 119-degree ultra-wide-angle lens accompanied by a 5MP tertiary macro lens which is capable enough to capture 2cm macro shots and a 2MP fourth depth sensor.

Coming to the front, there is a 16MP selfie camera placed within the punch-hole cutout at the top center of the display.

The user-friendly camera application allows you to capture FHD 1080p videos at 60/30fps, 4K videos at 30fps, and HD 720p slo-mo videos at up to 960fps.

What’s more?

This affordable Poco M2 Pro is smart enough to shoot time-lapse videos and supports RAW mode capturing as well.

Battery Life

Poco M2 Pro holds a 5000mAh battery along with a 33W fast charging technology.

No one wishes to own a phone that lasts for a short period with a single charge. Packed with a powerful charger, Poco M2 Pro charges up to 100 in just 1.5 hours that last a whole day even in rough use.

Verdict

If you are looking for a budget-friendly smartphone with an impressive camera performance under Rs. 15,000, with a long-lasting battery and powerful multitasking performance, then Poco M2 Pro is worth it.

2. Realmi 6i

Realme, an offshoot of the brand Oppo, added an all-new mid-range smartphone, Realme 6i with a noticeable quad-camera setup and powerful performance to the Realme series is already getting thumbs-up by many.

Launched after Realme 6, Even though the design and the specs sheet of Realmi 6i shows a huge resemblance with Realme 6, a major difference can be seen in the really impressive camera setup.

Let’s dive into the details of Realmi 6i.

Design

Realmi 6i doesn’t offer much in terms of unique design, yet its a good-looking phone which is elegant and appealing.

Realmi 6i boasts a plastic body with a glossy finish at the rear panel. Adding to that, the fingerprint scanner is embedded on the side where you can rest your thumb easily.

Comes in a 3.5mm headphone jack, a Type-C port, and a single bottom-firing speaker grille at the bottom panel, Realmi 6i holds a triple card slot that can support dual nano-SIM cards and a microSD card.

Display

Realmi 6i features an interesting display that offers a 6.5-inch FHD+ (1,800 x 2,400) LCD with a 90Hz refresh rate to deliver a great viewing experience.

A 2.5D curved Corning Gorilla Glass 6 acts as complete protection from accidental scratches that you don’t need to bother much.

Coming under Rs.15,000 smartphones, a 60Hz display is an added advantage of Realmi 6i that attracts most users where you can find a smooth scrolling experience.

As you can see with most of the latest smartphones, Realmi 6i supports Widevine L1 certification, that enables you to stream content on Prime Video and Netflix in an FHD resolution

Processor and Performance

An impressive MediaTek Helio G90T SoC, one of the best gaming processors which comes with a good CPU and GPU, offers an extreme gaming experience for all the ultra gamers who love playing challenging games at HD graphic settings. Thanks to Realme for not compromising the performance in a mid-tier phone like Realme 6i.

A powerful processor paired with up to 4GB RAM and 64GB internal storage offers smooth switching between the apps. With Realme 6i, shutter-free multitasking is not just a dream.

Camera

The Realme 6i with a powerful Al quad-camera system allows you to capture perfect pictures with utmost clarity in each single short.

Realme has done an excellent job with the camera at its price point. The 48MP main camera with f/1.8 sensor along with 8MP ultra-wide-angle lens, 2MP macro lens, and a 2MP depth sensor is capable of delivering decent images even in daylight shots. The main camera of this device can record native 4K videos

Coming to the selfie camera, the 16MP front-facing camera which is integrated inside the punch hole on the corner delivers much prettier selfies, whereas it can only record 1080p videos at 30fps.

Other camera features include 4K video at 30fps, Super Nightscape, Chroma Boost, selfie portrait mode, and Ultra 48MP mode.

Battery Life

Realme 6i sports a 4,300mAh battery providing enough fuel to last for a whole day in a single charge with normal usage.

This device also features a 30W VOOC flash charger which enables you to charge the phone up to 100% within an hour which is pretty fast.

Verdict

Wrapping some of the best features of the Realme 6, the all-new Realme 6i brings them to a more affordable price point. There are more than a few best smartphones with good camera features that we feel Realme 6i is one among them that you can opt from.

3. Realme Narzo 10

For the time being, we have seen how well the Realme series performed and now Oppo has added another gem to the series — Realme Narzo 10.

Comes in the utmost style with best camera performance, and better gaming experience, this device attracts new generations, particularly those who value these highlighted features above all else.

This is the first and the only pop-up selfie camera smartphone from the Realme family.

Tagged as a middle-range smartphone, this model never compromises in its overall performance.

Design and built quality

Inspired by the Realme 5 series, the rear part of the device matches the limited onion and garlic edition of the Realme X smartphone.

Comes in a premium look and design, Realme Narzo 10 catches the eye in a glance itself. Relatively tall and narrow, this device is very handy and the back panel isn’t slippery at all.

Covered with the Gorilla Glass 3 and a pre-applied screen protector, need not worry about the protection of the display.

The fingerprint sensor in Narzo 10 is designed at the back panel. The power buttons and volume buttons are placed on the right and left ergonomically enough for the user to reach easily. Adding to that, the removable tray can hold two Nano-SIM as well as a microSD card.

The bottom part of Narzo 10 is occupied by a USB Type-C port along with a 3.5mm audio socket and a single speaker.

Display

The display compartment is one of the unbelievable areas that Realme Narzo 10 excels in. A 720p IPS LCD panel in an affordable price range is really a WoW factor.

A massive 6.5-inch HD+ Mini-drop Fullscreen offers a great visual experience for a gamer and a movie buff.

A 20:9 aspect screen ratio holds a waterdrop notch at the top of the screen.

Processor and Performance

For most of the phones that we see today, the specs that they highlight on the paper does not match with the actual performance. Contrary to that, Realme Narzo 10 performs excellently according to its real specs.

Equipped with a MediaTek Helio G80 SoC, Narzo 10 holds a powerful integrated graphics capabilities, this is great info for the gamers to taste an improved gaming experience.

A pair of 2GHz ARM Cortex-A75 cores for power and six more Cortex A55 cores dedicated for efficiency, Realme Narzo 10 performs like a rockstar.

Comes in a single storage variant, 4GB RAM and 158GB internal storage have a big hand in delivering seamless performance when multitasking, scrolling through the menu and launching new applications.

Camera

A quad rear camera setup with a 48MP primary shooter gives satisfactory 12MP images using pixel-binning technology. This takes Narzo 10 to a higher end.

The 8MP ultra-wide-angle lens works well in covering huge areas with the expected quality. Coming to the 2MP macro lens, this device lets you capture decent close-up shots. Speaking about 2MP depth sensor, with no doubt helps to capture decent portraits with good background blur and sharp edges.

For taking attractive selfies, Realme Narzo 10 holds a space for a high-resolution 16MP selfie camera which even supports 1080p video recording and AI selfie mode to raise image quality.

Allover, while considering the price of the product, the low-light camera performance isn’t a disappointing factor.

Battery Life

The battery compartment is one of the best pros of Realme Narzo 10. Powered by a 5000mAh battery which is more than enough to work through a day of casual use along for the smooth functioning of the processor.

Moreover, an 18W fast charging can easily fuel up to work which roughly takes an hour to charge 100%.

Verdict

Well-packed with a great set of features, the Realme Narzo 10 seems to be one of the best smartphones which are value for money.

The long-lasting battery, 128GB internal storage, and a 48MP camera sensor is a fascinating package that you can grab under Rs.15,000.

#Smartphones #Camera Quality #Realme 6i #Realme Narzo 10

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m6repair · 4 years ago

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Tablet Screen Repair Hacks- Fix vs. Replacement

Fix versus Replacement

At the point when the guilty party truly is a broken screen of a tablet, picking one of the following three methodologies can assist you with taking care of the issue and allow tablet screen repair. You may have the option to fix the harm as opposed to replace it.

For example, is the screen obfuscated or in any case harmed from your mixed up utilization of unforgiving cleaning liquids or coarse paper towels to clean the screen? Provided that this is true, there is a fix for that.

Is the screen simply split or full-out broken - as in huge creepy crawly breaks from being crushed? You can fix a split screen on a tablet or a mobile phone all the more effectively with Sugru, a business item. A completely split screen on either kind of gadget is a strong contender for a screen substitution to allow tablet screen repair.

Unsmearing the Smudges

On the off chance that your mobile phone or tablet screen gives indications of cleaning misuse or wear from overwhelming dealing with, return its condition to about new with an oleo phobic covering unit. This is an oil-repellent covering that ensures the screen, alongside including perfection and diminishing fingerprints.

The covering, a flimsy layer of fluoropolymer-based solids, is like Teflon and is clung to the glass. You can purchase the covering unit from an assortment of electronic gracefully stores and online outlets.

You need these devices to apply the oleo phobic covering: microfiber cleaning materials, zipper plastic stockpiling packs, 70 percent isopropyl liquor.

Follow these steps:

· Completely spotless the surface with isopropyl liquor. At that point wipe the screen dry with a clean microfiber material.

· Set up a cleaning finger. The oleo phobic covering's fluid dissolvable vanishes immediately when applied, so once you start, work rapidly. Wrap one finger with saran wrap or a sandwich pack. Utilize this finger to rub the covering fluid onto the screen.

· Apply 10-15 drops of the covering to the screen's surface. On the off chance that the mobile phone or tablet screen has an enormous surface, apply 10 drops to a segment of the screen, taking a shot at each part in turn.

· Delicately and quickly appropriate the covering by cleaning your plastic-secured finger over the surface until the fluid dissipates.

· Wipe the screen dry with a clean microfiber fabric. At that point give the covering time to dry. Try not to contact the screen for 8-12 hours to permit the covering to attach to the surface.

· At the point when the holding time is finished, clear off any buildup staying on the touch screen with a clean microfiber material.

· Rehash this procedure 2-3 times to completely amplify the oleo phobic covering execution and film solidness.

m6repairs.co.uk

#Tabletrepairservice #TabletScreenRepair #Screenrepair #Tabletrepair #M6Repairs

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foremostlist · 5 years ago

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JBL Pulse 4 Review

A portable rave machine? Or maybe a 21st-century lava lamp? JBL’s latest version of its party speaker certainly attracts the eye with its fancy LED display. It also produces an improved, room-filling 360 degree sound that belies its pint-glass size. Nevertheless, all that flash adds to the cost of a device that lacks the basic smart features of similar-sized speakers at this price, while it also jettisons a couple of handy features that its predecessor boasted

Pros

Unique light effect Satisfying, well-balanced sound IPX7 waterproof rating...

Cons

…but slippery when wet No voice-assistant support No built-in speaker or 3.5mm aux input Comparatively expensive

Key Specifications

Review Price: £199 Weight: 1.2kg Dimensions (cm) 9.6 x 9.6 x 20.7 20W output 12hr battery life (3.5hr charge time) Waterproof rating: IPX7 amzn_assoc_placement = "adunit0"; amzn_assoc_search_bar = "true"; amzn_assoc_tracking_id = "foremostlist-20"; amzn_assoc_ad_mode = "manual"; amzn_assoc_ad_type = "smart"; amzn_assoc_marketplace = "amazon"; amzn_assoc_region = "US"; amzn_assoc_title = "My Amazon Picks"; amzn_assoc_linkid = "5c09a7109cf2e165f60e56a6ea5d1562"; amzn_assoc_asins = "B07XK9L6XH,B07YGNQ3J2,B07X7JLBN1,B07XGMH7GJ";

What is the JBL Pulse 4?

Portable speaker specialist JBL is probably the leading proponent of this type of flashy, in-your-face device. It makes several lines that fall into the bracket, with its Pulse range of portable speakers one of its most popular. Smaller, and a fair bit less obnoxious than your average party speaker, JBL has been making Pulse speakers since 2014, with the range’s unique selling point being its eye-catching LED lighting effects built into the chassis. Related: Best Bluetooth speakers

JBL Pulse 4 design – An aesthetic refined over several iterations, but drops the 3.5mm aux and built-in microphone

The design has been refined over the years. It began with an almost grid-like array of lights in the original model, to 2017’s Pulse 3, which featured a more lamp-like light show that ran just over halfway down the body of the tubular device, with a speaker grille and its controls wrapped around the bottom half. A slightly shorter unit, standing at 8.2in tall and available in black or white housing, the Pulse 4 goes all in on the light show feature this time. Its LED array runs the entire length of the speaker, making for a far more sophisticated look.

While the wrap-around speaker cloth grille has gone, the excellent, room-filling 360 sound of its predecessor is maintained. The device delivers an impressively loud and surprisingly well-balanced output that isn’t overtly dominated by bass – so often the case with devices of this type. There’s a payoff for that full-length light show, however: the 3.5mm auxiliary-in input and built-in microphone have both been sacrificed. This means you can no longer take calls with the device, nor use the speaker with a non-Bluetooth-capable sound source. Weighing in at 1.2kg, it’s a fairly hefty device for a speaker of this form factor. The glass-like casing, while prone to fingerprint smudges, has a major advantage over many of its rivals: it has a fairly comprehensive IPX7 waterproof rating.

USB input on the Pulse 4 This means the unit can be submerged in up to 1m of water for up to half an hour without causing damage. It’s also dust- and sand-proof, making it perfect for pool or beach parties, or bathroom sing-along sessions. Those claimed waterproof credentials certainly held up in our testing. However, it’s worth mentioning that playback was something of a garbled mess for a good 20 or so minutes following its dunking – despite the device having been wiped dry of surface moisture – as water worked its way out of the speaker grille. While some devices of this type have plastic flap covers on inputs, the single USB 3 socket on the Pulse 4 – used solely for charging – is completely exposed. While the socket itself has been given some waterproof treatment, we’d advise adopting some caution following an unexpected dip, ensuring that the port is fully dry before plugging the device into the mains. amzn_assoc_placement = "adunit0"; amzn_assoc_search_bar = "true"; amzn_assoc_tracking_id = "foremostlist-20"; amzn_assoc_ad_mode = "manual"; amzn_assoc_ad_type = "smart"; amzn_assoc_marketplace = "amazon"; amzn_assoc_region = "US"; amzn_assoc_title = "My Amazon Picks"; amzn_assoc_linkid = "5c09a7109cf2e165f60e56a6ea5d1562"; amzn_assoc_asins = "B07XK9L6XH,B07YGNQ3J2,B07X7JLBN1,B07XGMH7GJ";

JBL Pulse 4 features – The light feature has a practical application rather than simply being a gimmick

Along the brim of the speaker you’ll find an array of physical controls for controlling volume, playback, lighting, pairing, and syncing with other wireless JBL speakers via the brand’s bespoke “Party Boost” feature. This allows you to create a stereo pair, or a quasi multi-room multiple speaker array with up to 100 compatible speakers bunched together at once – something we weren’t unfortunately able to test in this review.

Connectivity is via Bluetooth 4.2, and while we’d have liked support for the more efficient 5.0 variant and the ability to connect to one device at a time, the device does at least boast an impressive wireless range of 80ft. The light show modes can be accessed via the aforementioned button on the top of the speaker, but there’s far more control over the effect via JBL’s well-designed iOS and Android companion apps.

While previous Pulse models had 10 different available modes, the light show profiles have been refined down to four on this latest edition. However, those on offer are now far more effective animations and are much more complementary to what sounds are playing. Alongside a mellow, slow pulsing “Spiritual” setting that seems geared toward yoga and meditation sessions, there’s also an aquatic-themed “Wave” mode, a campfire preset that mimics flames, plus an “Equaliser” setting that apes the graphic audio-analyser displays found on old hi-fi systems. As well as providing a visual cue for volume and battery levels, the light show can also be personalised through the app, with colour schemes available from a wide pallet. Even more handy is an impressively accurate colour-match feature. This makes use of your phone’s camera, enabling you to choose a colour from a picture, so you can potentially match the light to your room decor.

While it would be easy to dismiss the Pulse’s light feature as a gimmick, in practice it provided a far more pleasant effect than we were expecting. Similar to the way Philips’ Ambilight system subtly augments TV pictures, when in Wave and Spiritual mode, the Pulse 4’s lights genuinely add a soothing ambience to a room when softer tracks were played. The bouncy Equaliser animations complemented lively songs well, too. The Pulse 4 is clearly aimed at a youthful demographic, but the feature could easily find the device an audience beyond the one intended. While the app allows plenty of customisation of the device’s visual features, we’d like to see a future update that allows for some tweaking of its audio output – there’s are no EQ controls accessible at this point.

JBL Flip 4 Pulse sound quality – Totally addicted to bass

That’s not to say that the Pulse 4 isn’t well tuned – it is. The combination of its passive bass radiator on the bottom with the driver mounted at the top propels a warm, mid-focused sound in all directions. Its bass output belies its proportions, but never feels overpowering. Only when the volume is cranked beyond the 90% mark does any sort of harshness come into play. Nevertheless, it’s minimal, showing impressive restraint for a speaker of this size. At 20W of output it’s capable of doing a job even in larger rooms, but what’s perhaps most pleasing is the real sense of separation that it delivers.

Putting the device through its paces with MGMT’s often hard-panning In The Afternoon really showcases the evenly distributed 360 sound, with each element of the track easily distinguished. amzn_assoc_placement = "adunit0"; amzn_assoc_search_bar = "true"; amzn_assoc_tracking_id = "foremostlist-20"; amzn_assoc_ad_mode = "manual"; amzn_assoc_ad_type = "smart"; amzn_assoc_marketplace = "amazon"; amzn_assoc_region = "US"; amzn_assoc_title = "My Amazon Picks"; amzn_assoc_linkid = "5c09a7109cf2e165f60e56a6ea5d1562"; amzn_assoc_asins = "B07XK9L6XH,B07YGNQ3J2,B07X7JLBN1,B07XGMH7GJ"; JBL claims 12 hours of battery from a full charge, with the lights running off a full 3.5-hour charge. While this figure somewhat undersells its capacity (in our testing, we were able to get almost a further two hours with the volume up around the 75% mark), it remains a relatively low overall battery life for a speaker of this size and output.

Should you buy the JBL Pulse 4?

While JBL will likely claim that a youth-orientated speaker such as this doesn’t call for voice-assistant compatibility, it nevertheless seems a pity that you can’t at least piggyback to services such as Alexa due to the omission of a built-in microphone. This is the biggest disappointment of the Pulse 4, particularly at this price. With its better than expected sound quality, it would have rounded off an otherwise excellent device. The Pulse 4’s light show needs to be seen to be fully appreciated – and while it adds to the price and won’t be for everyone, it’s a unique feature that provides more than just a talking point for a speaker that punches well above its weight. Read the full article

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